To End This War
by ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden. [A collection of one-shots encapsulating Esmé's new life.]
1. Part 1 - Brooding Dreams

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com (linked on my profile)._

_Description: Esm__é__ Cousland, a tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 1 - Brooding Dreams**

_Her screams_

_We hear in our dreams_

_We hated_

_As she is violated_

_She grins_

_And devours her kin_

I could hear myself screaming. My wild limbs pushed, forcing whatever held me to stay back. I cried out, shrieking, but as futility sank slowly into my body, I began to whimper.

My fingers dug into a soft hide shirt, and I knew I was no longer dreaming. A warm embrace drew me back down from my nightmare. I smelled sweat, leather, and a campfire. Meat and vegetables were stewing.

"Are you back, now?" a gentle voice asked.

Alistair. He was close. Not cradling me exactly, but lying beside me in my tent, a hand cupping my cheek, thumbing away tears. The intimacy was entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome. Very likely, Alistair had experienced the same nightmare. Unlike me, however, he probably kicked himself out of the dream-trap, and came to help me do the same.

The closer we traveled to Orzammar, the more turbulent my dreams became. Alistair couldn't say the same. He had learned to block them out, mostly. Occasionally he did cry out in his sleep, not as much from seeing darkspawn and archdemons, but rather dreaming of being chased by old Chantry matrons, forcing him to eat his vegetables.

My eyes opened and caught Alistair's gaze immediately. His sad, soft brown eyes glowed like backlit honey, and worry etched deep lines into his otherwise gentle face. I looked away, embarrassed, and sat up, removing myself from his warmth.

"Did you see it?" I asked him as I pulled on my dirty white shift. It was only then that I realized Alistair had seen my sweaty, blood-encrusted, dirt-dusted body in just my smallclothes. He _had_ however done me the courtesy of covering me with a blanket, at least.

"Uh, nope." His light laugh was fueled by nerves. "Didn't see a thing. Promise."

Brow raised, I turned to eye the man. _Stare of doom_, Gilmore had called it. "I meant the dream, Alistair."

"Ohhh, you mean the ugly blob of flesh with many… many… _tentacles_. Yeah, saw that. Woke up immediately, thank the Maker… heard you screaming, and Potato whining outside your tent. Leliana's not happy about being woken _again_, by the way. Mentioned something about a sleeping poultice…."

"Leliana can stuff it," I replied rather bluntly, "move her tent far away, like Morrigan." Smiling, I added, "Don't repeat that…. I'm just tired."

"And _mighty_ grumpy."

"Hmph." I ran my fingers through my untied hair, urging out a few knots. "Do you know what that was? The… _thing_…. I heard a voice in my dream, not the voice of that creature but, softer, almost like a… dead voice."

"Dead voice?"

"Haunting."

"Oh."

"You didn't hear it?"

Alistair shook his head. "What did it say?"

I thought a moment, trying to recall the words, though most had by then left my memory. "Something about a woman being violated and eating her kin."

"Ew." His face contorted rather amusedly.

"Is it normal for my dreams to get _worse_ over time? You barely have any of these dreams."

"I do. I mean, I barely have any _now_, yes, but I still have them. But, like I said, something may be different for Wardens who undergo the Joining during a Blight. And, we're only a day outside of the Frostbacks. There are always darkspawn in the Deep Roads of Orzammar…." He shrugged. "Perhaps that thing we saw was another breed of darkspawn. I don't know."

"How many 'breeds' are there, exactly?"

"Well, there's the hurlocks, gunlocks, ogres and shrieks, all of which you've seen. So, four. Five, if you count the archdemon. I don't know about any others, but the Deep Roads may be home to all _sorts_ of abominations. Maybe… maybe that that _thing_ was the archdemon." He audibly shuddered.

I frowned, and shielded my face with my hands.

"Are you going to be alright?" I heard Alistair ask. "I can… stay here, if you want. If it helps you sleep, I mean. I've slept… mostly. Judging by those half-moons under your eyes, though, _you_ haven't. Not enough, anyway."

My muffled mumbling of "shut up" was decidedly unintelligible.

"Or, I don't know," Alistair continued. "Potato could stay with you." A muted whine sounded from outside my tent. "Or I could just stand guard outside the tent. Whatever you prefer."

I groaned as I lay back down on my bedroll. "Just stay," I commanded, or rather, yielded. "Potato…," I lowered my voice, "well, stinks. Worse than even you," I added with a jesting smirk. "Protector to the death, yes. But cuddle companion?" I huffed a laugh, and turned on my side to face Alistair. His deer hide underarmor was rather foul and badly needed replacing, but at least he didn't smell like he rolled in a pile of decay in the forest.

"I'm not much of a cuddle companion either," he confessed, grinning, "but I will stay, if it comforts you."

"It does," I admitted sleepily before yawning rather loudly. "Thank you."

"Sleep, now," my fellow Grey Warden ordered. "Just don't punch me again if you dream of more darkspawn."

"I punched you?"

"Yes. It _hurt_."

"Where?"

"Right over my heart. You're so _barbarous_." I could hear the grin in his voice.

"Just defend yourself, next time," I countered, smiling.

"You mean _hit a girl_? Perish the thought."

"Well, if the girl deserves it…."

"_You_ say that as if you _want_ me to hit you."

Eyes closed, I smiled.

"_Barbarous_," Alistair repeated before settling in beside me.


	2. Part 2 - Dwarven Ale

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 2 – Dwarven Ale**

"Just this once, for the first time in _way _too long, _I'm_ going to let myself _relax_." Adamant and defensive to a fault, I swigged the remaining dregs of ale from my stein and slammed the stone mug onto the hardwood tavern table. The ale had a strange, earthy taste, something akin to a strong stout, but with more dirt. "Another!"

Oghren chuckled. "I'm likin' you more and more, young lady."

Alistair sighed, and sat himself down across the table from me. "Look, I know it's been a long… _long_… few weeks, and I know we just survived a rather distressing ordeal in the Deep Roads… I never want to see another golem so long as I live… but we really don't have the leisure to get drunk. At least, so drunk we can't travel in the morning." I watched the young man before me leer at Oghren. "_Some_ of us," he turned back to me, an eyebrow raised, "can't handle our ale."

"I can so handle my ale," I countered. "And, yes, I need a damn drink. Or ten." A waitress walked over to the table and took my empty stein away. "It's only costing us those gems we found underground, anyway. And we found a lot of gems."

"Well _I _am going to bed." Alistair rose from the table, downed his glass of water, and stormed off to the rear of the tavern where room upon room awaited weary patrons.

Oghren chortled, and took a large bite out of his bread. "I think somethin' down Deep crawled up his arse when we weren't lookin'."

"Hmph." My third stein of ale arrived, and I took a long drink. "I thought he enjoyed drinking, judging by his stories, of him and the other Wardens."

"He doesn't like the taste of it," Leliana added, emerging from the shadows with a plate of food. "Neither do I. I also don't like what it does to my constitution."

"Constitution?" I asked before burping.

"It makes me very, very drunk."

I grinned, nodded, and took another sip.

Later, as I wavered my way back to my room, I recalled the night Gilmore and I had spent together while fabulously drunk. It had only been a few months, perhaps, since that night, but it felt like a lifetime ago. I missed him. I wondered if he stilled lived, free and fighting for Ferelden, or if Howe and his men killed him, too. Thankfully, the vast quantity of ale in my belly prevented me from crying myself to sleep. Instead, I giggled at nothing in particular.

"What's so funny?" someone grumbled from behind me.

I turned to find Alistair, still in his armor, holding bathing supplies and headed for the washroom.

"Time t' wash th' darkblood spawn off you, eh?" I giggled again, and continued on my way to my room.

"Maker, you're completely smashed!"

"I'll be _fine_, Alllsturrr. Lulllianuh gave me this." I held up a small green bottle of a hangover-preventing tonic that my Orlesian friend convinced me to drink.

"And what if the darkspawn broke through the ranks in the Deep Roads and decided to raid the city tonght? Then what?"

"That won't happen."

"It could."

"We would know, wouldn't we?" I smirked. "_Wwwarden_ sense _tingling_," I made a sparkling gesture with my fingers and laughed.

The man sighed, and turned back toward the washroom.

"I wish you'd've drunk with us," I called to him. "Would've been fun." I giggled, recalling something Oghren had said. "You've changed, I think." Alistair stopped, and turned. "You've somethin' up your bum these last couple weeks. When we first met, you were such a—" I giggled, "a smart-ass. And nice. Sweet, even. Now you're just an ass."

"I can assure you, Esmé," he glared sternly, gesturing with his hands in mild disgust, "that I've not nor have I ever had anything up my bum."

I stepped up to him, slowly, speaking one word per step. "Well… then… _sum-thing_… is… eatinggg… at… you." I stopped in front of him, peering up through my hazy eyes. "Maybe you need t' talk to someone 'bout it."

Alistair grumbled. "_Not_ now. _Not_ here. And _not_ while you're like _this_."

He turned and stomped away into the washroom.

I shrugged, and headed to bed.


	3. Part 3 - Warden Blues

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 3 – Warden Blues**

"Do you know why Duncan recruited you?" I heard Alistair ask from behind me. He was leaning on a tree trunk, looking away into the dark woods.

Smirking, I responded, "I suppose he watched me for a time? Or, heard of my accomplishments in combat."

"He said you were adventurous. Good in combat yes, that is a must, of course. He thought you seemed… 'eager to fight a bigger battle', I believe his words were."

I laughed. "That's a nice way of putting 'does not care for an easy life at court'. I never did like wearing dresses." I scrunched my nose, and Alistair chuckled.

He turned from the woods and finally looked toward me. "He also said you were stubborn."

"Hmph. My parents would agree."

Alistair lowered himself to the ground next to a resting Potato. He stretched out his legs before him, leaned back, and gazed up at the stars. "I wasn't angry that you let yourself get drunk, by the way. You have that right, particularly in Orzammar. If anywhere is safe to let one's guard down… it's there. And, anyway, I'm not in charge. I suppose no one is."

"You have seniority over me," I reminded him, "in the Wardens."

"Sure," he frowned a bit, pondering, "but, that doesn't mean I _should_ lead." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "I think Duncan saw a leader in you. You've been leading well so far, I think."

"I haven't been leading."

"Sure you have. Just because you take advice from the others doesn't make you not a leader. It just makes you smart."

I dismissed the compliment with a quick look of dissent. "Did you have a point, about mentioning my recruitment?"

"Ah, no, not your recruitment exactly. I was going to say that I agree with what Duncan said about you. All of it. Particularly the stubborn bit."

"Thanks?"

"Ha, anytime." Alistair smiled, and looked to Potato. He offered the dog a firm belly rub. "Anyway, I, eh…," he continued to give Potato plenty of attention while searching for whatever words he was missing. "That night in Orzammar, I was upset. I suppose I could even call it distraught. We had nearly been crushed by golems, and all I could think about… was Duncan. And, you know, the 'broodmother'." He shivered. "And then, I _kept_ thinking about Duncan and how he died at the hand of darkspawn…." He looked down at his feet. "Anyway, I needed someone to talk to, that's all. That's why I was upset. You're really my only option for 'hey do you get the Warden blues too?' sort of thing."

I didn't have any good reply to Alistair's confession. His sincerity surprised me, though it shouldn't have. He had already comforted me the night I had a particularly bad nightmare. But, I understood. Though most people in our party were easy to talk to, none of them truly understood the emotions, thoughts, and physical trials Alistair and I were both facing and would face until our last days.

I hung my head, feeling somewhat ashamed. I should have guessed that this was the reason Alistair was growing increasingly upset. He never allowed himself to grieve properly. Perhaps tonight was a good time for mutual consolation – for Alistair to say what's on his mind about Duncan, and for me, to finally talk to someone about what happened to my family.

Alistair lay back on the grass, and Potato repositioned himself to lie alongside him. I stood and walked over to them, laying down beside Alistair and joining in his stargazing.

"Do you think we'll need handkerchiefs for this?" I asked, half-joking. I turned to see Alistair giving me an odd look, but he was soon smiling again.

"Nah. There's no crying in the Grey Wardens!" was his answer, perhaps not actually joking. "Just a lot of grunting, spitting, cursing, and aggressively sarcastic jokes."

"Hey, you said it, not me."

"What does that mean?"

"So, Duncan, then," I course-corrected. "And feelings."

"Are you suggesting an all-out sob fest in which I'll end up hugging a pillow?"

I shrugged. "You can always hug Potato."

I heard a faint woof of approval.

The man sighed heavily. "Alright. But you need to open up, too. I know grief when I see it."

I turned, propping myself on an elbow. Offering Alistair a soft, encouraging smile, I replied, "Deal."


	4. Part 4 - Down, Boy

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_Bumping up to a Teen rating now._

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 4 – Down, Boy**

"_You_ are positively _filthy_, young man."

Potato cocked his head, and his ears twitched up as he contemplated what I had said. Finally understanding, he whined, sulked, and started towards the shallow creek not far from camp where he could wash himself, at least for the most part. I had to help a little, naturally. Not that I minded. Potato was my charge as much as I was his… and I didn't exactly smell like a rose, either.

I shoved my relatively clean bedclothes into a sack before placing my soap, rag, and towel on top of them. The day's warmth still clung to the land, for which I was thankful. Like the others, I had left my cloak with Bodahn. The southern lowlands of Ferelden hardly required fur clothing, and Bodahn had an ox-drawn cart to haul our various equipment and treasures around.

We found a nice bend in the creek, concealed from camp by brush and low branches. I wasn't worried about being ambushed – Potato would have smelled something coming from miles away.

I was finally getting a good workup of suds in my hair when Potato stopped moving entirely, ears up, looking down the creek towards something. I remained calm and finished washing my hair, but continued to eye the area Potato was watching.

Finally rinsed, I crouched beside my dog. "What is it, boy?"

The hound chuffed. Whatever was out there was not a threat, but was certainly of interest to Potato. When he sat down, I knew for sure that we were not under attack.

"Is it a deer?" I asked him as I worked up more suds for my wash rag.

No answer.

"A rabbit?"

Silence.

"A person?"

Potato turned to me and chuffed again.

A person.

"Is it someone from camp?"

Chuff.

Relieved, I finished washing, scrubbing myself free of darkspawn and bandit blood, and rinsing grit from places one should never experience grit.

As I packed up my things, I watched Potato. He was still very interested in whatever was going on down the creek. Ever guilty of a curious mind, I decided to head down to see what had my dog so captivated. The further I walked, the more I could make out the sounds of a struggle. Not a big struggle, more like the kind of fight one might have with a tightly-corked wine bottle. Grunting, mumbling, and various other unintelligible sounds of frustration.

The creek became somewhat bigger and rockier the further downstream I walked, becoming what one might call a babbling brook. Over the faint drone of gurgling water, I could make out very clearly the same grunting I had been hearing for several minutes now. I looked down to Potato, patted him on the head to get his attention, and used a hand signal ordering him to stay put, and stay silent.

Spying on people wasn't exactly a hobby of mine, but something about the sounds I was hearing were… familiar. Gilmore always said my curiosity would get me killed. Perhaps he was right. Nevertheless I was drawn to the source of these sounds, and was too close now to turn back.

It was dark, but whoever was just beyond the brush in front of me had brought a lantern, as had I. I bent down close to the young branches and leaves and pulled them apart slowly, creating a small window. When I saw whom it was creating the noises, and what the person was doing, I bit my tongue to prevent myself from gasping.

Alistair was alone, naked, wet from bathing, and sparkling like a pale flame in front of his lantern. The grunts I had been hearing came from him, a reaction to the pleasure he was giving himself. I knew I should have backed away and faded into the night, but I was locked in my position, gawking at the scene before me. Before I confirmed that he was alone I had thought perhaps he was with Leliana, whom he had been rather friendly with since meeting. His only companion, however, was his right hand.

I had to admit, I felt a familiar twinge in my loins as I watched him pull at his own. I was about to leave, finally freed from enrapture, when a very loud moan stopped me in my tracks. It was followed by an entirely unexpected word – my name.

"Esmé…. Esmé…. Esmé…."

I froze again, feeling a mix of horror and excitement. Potato shuffled quietly to my side and brushed against my leg. Alistair moaned my name several more times. Too many times. Potato had become riled up, and answered Alistair's call with a piercingly loud bark.

_Bad boy!_ I hissed inside my head before silently chastising myself and running away from the scene of my petty crime.


	5. Part 5 - Liar

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

_**TO END THIS WAR**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part 5 - Liar<strong>

"Sooo," I heard Alistair lull before he sat next to me by the campfire. Dawn's light did not yet show, but I couldn't sleep anyway, and had begun to cook some breakfast. "About last night…," he continued.

I cleared my throat, and stoked the fire. "I heard Potato found you bathing. Sorry about that. I'll make sure he stays with me from now on."

A short silence screamed between my remark and Alistair's response. "I know you were there, Esmé. I saw your lantern light fly away. Unless of course Potato has fairies or wisps following him around the forest, now."

Groaning, I hid behind my hands. "I'm sorry. I heard…." I lifted my head, but avoided looking at Alistair. "I heard noises, and thought that maybe someone was having trouble with something. Potato knew someone was there and wouldn't let up. His interested caused mine. I'm sorry."

Alistair shifted on the felled log. I retained my avoidance of eye contact. "It's…," he sighed, finding his words. "On the road, in camp, people see and hear things. It's bound to happen, I suppose. I've seen Oghren naked more times than I care to acknowledge. I just… eh…. Perhaps Potato needs to learn some boundaries. Not that I'm angry or anything, I just… being _watched_…."

"He's been punished," I replied in earnest, still avoiding the fact that I knew he had been thinking about me while pleasuring himself. "He'll stay away from those sounds from now on."

"Oh, will he?"

"Yes. He follows my orders." Usually.

"Alright." The sound of the crackling fire and sizzling meat was all that filled our ears until an unfortunately-phrased question dropped. "So, Potato liked what he heard, then? Piqued his interest?"

My stomach did a backflip. I knew what Alistair was asking, and I was unsure of how to answer. My better judgment told me to go with honesty, but my stubborn side wanted me to skirt around the real issue. The _issue_ being I had heard him moan _my_ name, and that I liked what I saw enough to keep me awake all night with feelings of guilt, not just towards Alistair but also towards my Gilmore. My very possibly lost-to-the-civil-war Gilmore.

My face was burning, and not just from the proximity of the campfire. My ears in particular were likely beet red. I closed my eyes, screaming internally, completely unsure of how to act, what to say. I wondered if Alistair was smirking now, or if his expression was completely serious. Either one would have been equally unnerving, and I continued to look down my stoking stick.

"Well," I began, "he certainly heard something that made him bark."

Alistair made a ponderous noise. "I wonder how many sounds or words exist that make him want to bark. I don't recall uttering anything like 'rabbit'… or 'marrow bone'."

I sighed, and answered softly, feeling utterly defeated and downright disgusted with myself. "I don't know, Alistair."

"Mph, what a shame. And here I thought Potato and I were going to get to know each other a little better. Ah well." I heard him stand. "If Potato needs me, I will be in my tent a little while longer. Tell him he's free to come by for a chat." Then, in his usual cheeky tone, Alistair left me with a rather curious comment. "Who knows, maybe I have a marrow bone sitting around somewhere."

Alistair walked away, and I ate my breakfast.

The day's journey was entirely without event. Not even a butterfly crossed our path. Chatter amongst the party was normal, except for the deafening silence between myself and Alistair. After we stopped for lunch and headed out again, Zevran decided to take it upon himself to play the meddler.

"I hear that Grey Wardens have almost unending stamina," the Antivan commented. "Have you found this to be true?"

"What?" I asked, confused by the non-sequitur.

"You should experiment. I would offer myself, but… you know that your fellow Warden desires you, yes?" Zevran, always blunt and forthright, stated the obvious.

"Yes, Zev, I gathered that." I listened to the crunch of dirt and twigs beneath our feet as we walked. "Has he… talked to you about it?"

"No. There was no need. I'm _pretty _sure that everyone knows. The man does nothing to hide his feelings. I hope he doesn't play cards for money, often."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"I suppose I and everyone else are curious to know if you feel for him the same desire. We _also_ know about your lover from the north. I'm considering taking wagers on whether or not you'll see him again."

"Zev!"

"Just joking! Mostly. I suppose my point is this – you had a lover. How wonderful. He was most likely captured by this Howe character and his men, who supposedly killed your sister-in-law and nephew. Now, tell me, just how likely is it that this man of yours is alive and well and searching Ferelden for you as we speak? Is it not more likely that he is not searching for anything, anymore?"

"Maker save me…. Zev, _please_, stop!" Voice raised, everyone in the party stopped to stare. I grumbled, and continued walking.

Potato promptly growled at the elf, who quickly backed off and let me alone.


	6. Part 6 - Confession

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com. _

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 6 - Confession**

I stood outside Alistair's tent, surely sweating like a Mabari in Molioris. At Leliana's urging, I had decided to confess everything to Alistair. About that night by the creek, about how I felt then, and how I felt now. I must have been standing there for a good five minutes before I heard the man call to me from inside.

"Look, if you're going to attack me, do it quick. All that loitering outside my tent is making me nervous." Thick fingers pulled back the tent flap, and a smirking Alistair peered out. "Well? What will it be? Assassin or tea?"

"Tea?"

He shrugged. "It rhymed."

"You're a poet now?"

"Rather a failed punnist. Get it? Ass_ass_in… or…." I did finally get it. My crooked frown hopefully signaled that he should stop talking. "I've _got_ to stop taking advice from Zevran." He cocked a brow. "Are you alright? Do you have indigestion again?"

"Yes. Bad indigestion. In my brain. Can I come in or not?"

Without a word, Alistair scooted back while holding open the tent flap for me. Once seated, I began speaking, hoping to stave off any further asinine, deflecting comments from the man.

"Alright, Alistair. I'm going to say what's on my mind, but I need you to listen. Just listen, alright? Until I'm finished. Then, you can ask me anything you want. Agreed?"

"This feels like lessons at the Chantry again," he chimed, again smirking.

"What did I just say!?"

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am." He sat up straight and firm, allowed by his tall tent. "Listening henceforth commenced."

I rubbed my forehead as if it would ease the frustration out of my brain. "Alright, so," I fidgeted, "I did see you. And hear you. That night, at the creek. I saw and heard everything. Er, that is, everything from the moment I left to just prior. Potato barked because you kept saying my name. You know that. I don't know why I lied…. Except, well, I guess I _do_ know why I lied. I think you do, too. This is… awkward. This thing, whatever is going on between us. It might be nothing…. No, no it's something. I don't know what it is, but it exists. And I know that you know that I had a lover back in Highever. _Have_ a lover…. We, Gilmore and I, agreed to marry, eventually, as soon as I could get my father to allow it. My mother already agreed…. But, now, Father's dead, and Mother, and maybe even my brother. I don't know if Gilmore is alive. Like Zevran said, the likelihood of him being alive or even free from captivity is very slim. I don't know if I will ever see him again."

I took a deep breath, and then continued. Except for a faint flush of his cheeks, Alistair remained silent and unreadable, a captivated audience. I continued. "I can't just give up on hoping to see him again. Gilmore and I have been together since we were small. I never considered a future without him…." I looked down, and picked at a hangnail on my left thumb. "But I can't ignore what I feel for you. Especially now that I know…. That you…. I…. I just, I don't know if what we're feeling is genuine, or if it's a result of the bond we share." I raised my gaze to meet Alistair's, who remained still, listening, expressionless, absorbing every word that stumbled out of my mouth. "We've been through so much. We know the hardships…. And though I doubt the authenticity of my feelings, I can't help but… but…," I looked away again, "_want_ things. Seeing you there, that night, and all this time watching you be the great warrior you are…." I briefly buried my face in my palms again. "I don't know what to do, Alistair. And, I'm sorry. I've likely made everything far, _far_ worse. I do like you. I like being with you. I like fighting by your side. I just… I mean, do you understand? Where I'm coming from?" I glanced up, but received no nod or other gesture from the man. "Alistair?"

Why the silences between him and me had to be so incredibly painful was anyone's guess, but I had to assume it was because many things were _being said_ in those silences. All of the things that we wanted to scream at one another, but instead kept them inside our respective heads.

"I understand," he finally answered. Though the lantern light was dim, I could tell he was blushing much more than earlier. "And, I'm sorry, too. For not saying something earlier. I, too, like you. Your company. And, yes, I agree, the Warden bond we share may affect how we feel… but I certainly never felt that way about Duncan or the others. I mean, they were lovely men, but, well, you know…." A moment passed before he grinned. I knew he was telling the truth, but laughing about it all the same.

I smiled in return, but felt no more at ease. "I just… I worry that this tension between us will be distracting."

"Distracting from what? Darkspawn, or your past?"

I swallowed hard. "The former."

The man's long, drawn-out sigh was disquieting. "Alright, I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"We start over." Alistair made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "_'Hello_, my name is Alistair. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Warden'." He half-bowed from his seated position. "_Blah, blah blah,_ smart comment about you being female, you question my intelligence…. Skip the embarrassing middle bits and land right on you, me, and all our friends squashing this Blight like a rotten tomato, killing the archdemon with our bare hands all primal and bloody with the ripping and slicing and tearing out of entrails…."

"Nice imagery."

"Thank you." His grin was nothing short of cheesy. "We end this war one day at a time. One fight at a time. Loghain, Howe, archdemon, all of it, we go where the war takes us. We go where life takes us."

"That's surprisingly mature of you to think that way."

"Hey…."

I grinned, and was relieved to hear him chuckle.

"So, starting over," I confirmed.

"Yep. Just pretend we haven't already killed hundreds of darkspawn and the broodmother and other such monstrosities. Naive as a spring chicken, and all that."

"I think you mean 'fresh'."

"Same difference."

I nodded, and scratched my elbow. "So, 'Alistair', eh?" I smiled. "Anyone ever call you Ali?"

"_Yes_, but they're no longer living."

"Good to know."


	7. Part 7 - Inked

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 7 - Inked**

"So, those tattoos you both have…." Alistair crept up between me and Zevran, meeting our stride.

"Yes, Alistair?" Zevran asked.

"Didn't they _hurt? _I mean, they're on your _face_."

"Not just my face," I replied.

"You too?" Zevran turned, grinning. "Where else are you painted, might I asked?"

"Nowhere you'll ever see," I retorted.

"Such a shame," my elf friend replied.

"Hey," Alistair probed, "I asked a question."

"Yes, they hurt," Zevran replied.

"They did?" I asked, smirking.

Zevran laughed. "To say they did not is a filthy lie. Are you a filthy liar? And here I thought I was the rotten one of this party."

"Alright," I agreed, "the facial one hurt, but not the others." I turned to Zevran. "Do your marks mean anything? In Antivan or Crow culture, or otherwise?"

"Rank and accomplishments, mainly, yes," he nodded. "And yours?"

"Heraldic symbols of my family and ancestors, mostly. And birds. An eagle, to be specific. The one of my face, I mean."

"You have the Cousland crest on your body somewhere?" Alistair asked.

"On my back," I confirmed.

Zevran clicked his tongue. "I have not met many humans with facial tattoos. Usually they are reserved to pirates and assassins. People of the shadows, as it were. Tell me, what did your family say when you came home painted as such?"

I laughed. "My father's jaw fell to the marble floor. My mother sighed, but soon came to terms with my new face. My brother was quiet about it, but I knew he didn't approve. None of them were truly upset, though."

"And Gilmore?" Alistair asked.

I turned to my fellow Warden, surprised he would bring up the man. "He _also_ has tattoos. Not on his face, though."

We were quiet for a few strides, until Alistair mused aloud, "I think I'd like a tattoo. A little one. I don't know what I would get, or where I'd put it, though."

"I have some suggestions, if you like," Zevran offered. "I find people enjoy something on the arse. Gives them a more precise target. I could give you one, if you like. I've had some training in the art."

Alistair cringed. "Maybe not."


	8. Part 8 - Faded

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 8 - Faded**

My head hurt.

I had been crossing thresholds from one dreamland to another, shapeshifting into a mouse, a spirit, a man on fire, and a golem interchangeably and, at times, all within seconds of each other. I battled darkspawn, spirits, abominations and more, and I was _exhausted._ And yet, after all of that, I still had to find my companions. So far I had found Wynne, our newest party member, a mage from the Circle who volunteered to help battle the corruption inside the Tower. She was trapped in a prison of her own mind, influenced by a demon. Leliana, Morrigan, Oghren and Zevran were all trapped as well, but proved far less trouble to get to snap out of it than Wynne had.

After locating all but one of my companions, I grew worrisome. Alistair was still missing, and I had no idea how to find him. All this time I had simply touched a glowing pedestal and was transported to a new dreamscape. Sometimes I found a companion, other times I found fire. Most times, I became hopelessly lost.

Once my companions had realized they were dreaming, they disappeared. I was constantly alone otherwise, and beginning to feel hopeless. It occurred to me that it was possible that Alistair was not dreaming, but in fact still awake in the Tower. But if he was awake, I wondered, what was I still doing asleep? Unless, of course, I had something else to accomplished while asleep.

I retraced my steps, watching the corpses of darkspawn carefully. I became lost several more times and had to morph into a spirit-mouse yet again. When I finally entered an area that I did not recognize, my hopes were somewhat restored. I shook off my mouse form and went forth as myself, greatsword at the ready. When I heard the laughter of children, I thought myself half-mad. Or maybe all mad.

Walking around a bend, I saw two figures seated at a table. Two adult figures. One of them was wearing very familiar armor.

"Alistair!" I ran towards them from the hill.

The man turned, and I was delighted to see Alistair's beaming grin. "Esmé!" he exclaimed, rising to greet me. "You're here! Finally! Join us. Goldana made pie!"

"Goldana?"

"My sister!" Alistair stepped back, gesturing towards the skinny, redheaded woman in rather tattered clothing.

"You have a sister?" I asked, staring. "And have been eating pie?"

"Yup! And, yup! And I have five nieces and nephews! I mean, well, not ten of them. Five altogether." His grin turned to a serene, contented smile. His eyes were sparkling. "I finally have a family, Esmé. I finally have a home. I don't think I've ever been so happy."

_Maker's breath_. This was going to be more difficult than convincing Wynne she had been dreaming.

But I smiled, and for the moment, decided to play along. "That's wonderful, Alistair. I'm so happy for you. Um…," I acted coy, an unnatural demeanor for myself. Stepping up to him, I whispered, "Can I speak with you alone, just for a moment? I have something important to tell you."

Alistair appeared surprised, but soon a decidedly mischievous grin decorated his face. "Of course. But then, pie!"

"Yes. Pie. After we talk." _Smile_, I instructed myself._ Smile sweeter._

As Alistair and I walked away from the apparition, I let my fingers trace the length of his arm, ending their journey at his hand. Gently, slowly, our fingers intertwined, and Alistair's smile shifted from mischievous to something one could easily equate with awe and wonder.

"Alistair," I whispered close to his ear, "it's Duncan. He's been found alive. He did not die at Ostagar."

The man backed away, understandably shocked. "What? No, we watched him die."

I shook my head. "We watched him be hurt badly. He's been taken to the Chantry at Redcliffe. We need to go, now, before it's too late."

"Too late? He's dying?"

"Yes. Something about the taint. He only has one month to live. And he's asking for you, Alistair. He cries out for you."

"Don't listen to her, Alistair," his 'sister' crooned. "She's lying. Duncan is very much dead. But you are not. You are home, now. Come, let us eat."

_Alright, plan two._

I lunged at Alistair, pressing his face between my hands, forcing him to look upon me and not the demon who claimed to be his relative.

"Alistair, listen to me. This is not real. This is a dream. We are in the Fade, right now. That woman is _not_ your sister. She is a demon."

The 'woman' laughed. "Are all of your friends so amusing, Alistair dear? Oh, I do like this one."

Alistair made to turn to the demon, but I stopped him, and held his gaze.

"If you've ever trusted me, Alistair, trust me now. You _have _to wake up!"

"Trust you!?" the demon cried. "You just now lied about Duncan! Poor, betrayed Duncan!" She turned to Alistair. "She's a liar. Do _not_ go with her."

Alistair gripped my wrists, and nearly succeeded in removing my hands from him. "No, Alistair! Think! How did you end up here? Is this a house? A home suitable for a mother and her five children? Where _are _we!? Think!" With my final command, I gently shook the poor man's head.

He frowned. "I don't know, Esmé. But, I'm here, now, and I'm happy. Please, if you want to leave, go. I hope I will see you again, someday."

I decided against slapping the man. Certainly, that would have ended poorly. Instead, my desperation led me to a vastly different tactic.

I kissed him.

Still holding him between my palms, I pressed my lips to his and then slowly moved one hand behind his head, securing my grip. It only took a moment after the initial shock for the man to melt into me, and return the kiss. His hands, once gripping my wrists, moved to my waist, and held on for the duration. The kiss became surprisingly passionate, and not at all unpleasant.

A faint hiss to my right startled me, and Alistair too. He broke the kiss, and we turned to see his 'sister', quite perturbed.

When I turned back to Alistair, I found him frowning. "I'm sorry, Esmé. You have to leave. Goldana does not like you."

"Alistair, no!"

"Please, go quickly," he said, voice on the verge of breaking. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

I backed away, greatly saddened, but not all that surprised. "I'm sorry, too, Alistair," I replied before reaching behind me to my sword's pummel. In a matter of seconds, the demon-woman's head was severed from her body. With a flash, Alistair was gone.


	9. Part 9 - Anything

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 9 - Anything**

"He's been avoiding me for days," I commented to Wynne. "It's starting to actually hurt."

"Well, you lied to him. Manipulated his feelings," the mage replied.

"To save him!" I hissed, quietly. "And in the end none of that even worked! I should have just went straight for the demon's head first thing, but… I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight. I saw him, there, _finally_, and all I could think was 'save Alistair'. I didn't really take the time to cook up a master plan."

The woman chuckled. "So, you reciprocate his feelings, then?"

"What? No. I just care about the man. He's the only other Warden I know who's still breathing. I need him." Wynne didn't respond, but I knew by the tone of her previous comment that she didn't believe me. And what she said suggested she knew, or surmised, that Alistair was interested in me. I knew she was right, but I wasn't going to delve further into _that_ conversation.

I gazed over his way. Alistair was reading something by lantern light, secluded from the rest of camp.

"I think I'll give him another day or so," I decided. "Let him calm down."

"That is probably best," Wynne agreed. "The road to Denerim is long, after all. Plenty of time."

"Time for what?"

Wynne's wry smile said it all, and I walked away in a huff.

Three days later, I woke to the smell of frying potatoes. I crawled over to where I kept my lantern to find the candle inside it lit, and a book propped up against the glass. Confused, I picked up the book. It was small, and I recognized it as the one Alistair had been reading on and off the entire time we had been on the road, ever since leaving Lothering. The book seemed random and relatively unimportant. It documented various hymns and songs of the Chantry. I didn't expect Alistair to own such a thing, himself not being overly fond of the Chantry, and I was completely at a loss for why he would have given the thing to me.

Examining the border, I noticed that there was a space between pages. Something was pressed inside. I opened to the space to find a black cloth, folded in half. Within the cloth was a pressed, dried, red rose, some petals still clinging on. The words on the two adjacent pages seemed random, with no markings or any such indication to draw my attention. I figured the book to be just a book, a means to press the rose.

Alistair's rose, in Alistair's book.

I figured it a peace offering, a sign that I was free to speak to him again without receiving an evil glare. Lantern and rose in hand, I left my tent to confront the man, hopefully in private.

Dawn was near, and I knew soon we would have to break camp. I didn't have much time. I found Alistair near the doused campfire, playing with Potato. The man had not yet fully dressed, and I caught glimpses of muscles flexing and relaxing as Alistair struggled to free a small, dead branch from the dog's iron jaws. I stood watching, unnoticed by the man but surely sensed by the dog. I honestly didn't mind the view, particularly when Alistair let go of the branch and fell backwards, landing hard on his backside. My giggle gave me away.

"Are you alright?" I asked him as I approached, lending a hand to help him stand.

"No," he whined. "My bum hurts. I might need a massage."

"Nice try."

"I have _no_ idea what you mean."

"You've been around Zevran for too long, that's what that means. Hey," I lifted my hand holding the rose, presenting the fabric with an open palm. "Does this mean we're friends again?"

"Friends?"

"The rose – it's a peace offering, yes?"

"Ah, yes. Peace offering. Nothing better than a red rose to end a war."

"Right..." I unfolded the fabric and eyed the petals. "Why a rose? Why not just say, 'By the way, Esmé, I no longer despise your very existence. We can recommence human conversation now'?"

"I never despised your existence."

"Didn't you?"

Alistair's gaze lowered to the rose. He gingerly took the fabric from my palm, and folded the fabric in such a way that made it seem like he was forming a bed for the dried flower. "No, I didn't," he finally answered, still holding the fabric. "Yes, I was… confused, maybe a little hurt by what you did in the Fade, but I understand why you did it. I do. I just needed some time to think, is all."

"I'm sorry I tried to manipulate your feelings. I truly am. None of the others were as content as you were. I knew it would be difficult to make you see…."

"But why _kiss_ me? I understand the Duncan thing, and, I think it would have worked…. But I still don't know why you kissed me."

"Because I would have done anything to wake you up, Alistair. I figured, something like that would have been shocking enough to… jolt your mind. I don't know…."

"Watching my sister be decapitated was fairly jolting."

"I should have done that first, but I had to be sure that person _was _a demon." Alistair fell silent, and I posed a nagging question. "In the Fade, you said you were happy to finally have a family. But if you have a sister… don't you already have a family?"

Alistair made a tiny noise, something between a whine and a groan. "Not… not exactly. Come on," he started toward my tent. "I'll explain while I help you pack."


	10. Part 10 - Second First Kiss

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 10 – Second First Kiss**

"You never did answer my question," I pointed out to Alistair as we walked to my tent.

"Which question?"

"Why a rose?"

"Oh, I thought we established that. Peace offering. _Yyyep_."

"You're a terrible liar, you know."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, speaking very quickly. "That I picked it in Lothering because it reminded me of you and I didn't want the impending darkspawn horde to trample something so beautiful?"

I froze where I was, tent pole in hand. "What?"

Alistair sighed, and his shoulders sank. "I… yes. You were… so sad, early on. With what happened to your family, being thrown into the Wardens…. I meant to give you the rose as we stood there, right when I picked it, to cheer you up, I suppose. But I just… I couldn't. I'm a coward, I'll be the first to admit that. We had only known each other, what, a week, then? Anyway…. You have it, now. It's a bit shriveled, though. Much like my bravado, I suppose."

I stood still, mind racing as it registered what Alistair was saying. He was readily dismantling my tent.

"I don't really know what to say," I answered honestly. "Thank you." Alistair finished folding the tent and deposited it in my arms.

My area of the camp finished, we started on his own tent. "So," I continued, "you have a sister."

"Half-sister. We share a mother. She supposedly lives in Denerim."

"Supposedly?"

"Well, I've never met her. I always told myself that when I was in Denerim I would seek her out. I always chickened out, though."

"Why?"

"It's… complicated. And, as we've previously established, I'm a coward."

"Your prowess in battle suggests otherwise," I remarked, smirking.

"Ha! Yes, well… slashing a sword, bashing a shield…_ so_ much easier than serious conversations with women."

"Ohh, so you're just a coward when women are involved. I should have been born a man – would have gotten straight answers out of you."

"No, I prefer you as you are."

"_Do_ you?"

Alistair froze and looked over to me. Realizing he perhaps said too much, a pink hue flushed over his entire face. He began again working out his tent stakes.

"This is difficult for me," he admitted in an uncharacteristic serious tone.

"What is?"

"You. Here. Right in front of me."

"Would you prefer I leave?"

"No."

"Then please," I begged, approaching, "tell me what to do so that _this_ is less awkward."

More silence passed. He stood, and then he finally answered. "There's just… so much I want to say to you. But every time I think I _can_, I remember that you're not… available. And, so, I swallow it down and move on. And I've been doing that practically since I met you and frankly it's beginning to drive me a bit mad. It's not your fault. I don't blame you. You can't help being _amazing_. It's… just… _why_ did you have to _kiss me_? I can't stop thinking about that. I know what you said, that you thought it would help, but that just doesn't make sense, unless _you_ kissing _me_ would only happen in my dreams. Then I suppose I understand. Perhaps I'm just thinking too hard on it."  
>Smirking, I answered, "You are definitely thinking too hard on it."<p>

"Right," he agreed, gesturing with his hands again. "Moving on, then."

"I kissed you because I was desperate."

"I thought we were moving on."

"I didn't want to lose you." _That_ got his attention. I quickly explained myself. "If you had stayed in the Fade… if your _mind_ had stayed in the Fade, I have no idea what would have happened to you. Probably, your body would have wasted away, as if you were in a coma. Perhaps that's what a coma is…. And, maybe, deep down, I thought that a kiss was the best way to reach you. But I was wrong."

"Oh, it reached me. At least, after I woke up."

"And…," I sighed. "I felt something, alright? I felt something when I thought I would lose you, and I felt something when I kissed you. I felt something when I realized the rose was from you, and… now. I feel something now. I told you weeks ago that I liked you, and I still do. I don't think it's the bond we share. I think it's more than that. But, that doesn't mean that I… that… that I'm giving up on Gilmore. I can't bring myself to do that. Not yet. So, that's what the kiss meant. You can stop wondering, now."

Alistair squirmed a bit, either rolling a sore muscle in his shoulder or pretending he had a sore muscle when he was actually feeling something stronger, emotionally. "It's just not a great first kiss, is all."

"It wasn't a 'first kiss'."

"Of course it was."

"It was no different than a slap across the face, Alistair! Believe me, I considered that, too."

With a grin, he noted, "Has anyone ever told you you're even more beautiful when annoyed?"

I growled and tugged at Alistair's tent fabric. It might have ripped, too, if it hadn't been cured leather.

"Careful," he chided, grinning. "Rip that and the penalty is sharing yours."

"You're impossible. You _know _that, right?"

"I try."

I let out a strange, sob-like sound, and rubbed my forehead. "You keep saying these _things_…."

"Oh, I do love to prattle on."

I was gathering the other tent poles when I realized Alistair had dropped the folded tent and was standing over me. I stood from my crouched position and was seconds away from yelling at the man again, but my mind and body were stilled by the gentle touch of his palm to my cheek. His other hand was then upon the other cheek. As I had him in the Fade, he held me facing him, though far less aggressively. Before I could even consider protesting, he leaned in to kiss me.

It was nice, the kiss. Too nice. I felt ill at ease as I saw in my mind's eye Gilmore's distraught face. Though part of me wanted to run away and hide, the other part wanted more of Alistair. As my arms found their way around the man's neck, locking the embrace, I knew that my heart had finally made a decision, whether I wanted it to or not.

Abruptly, Alistair broke the kiss, but his smiling gaze assured me it was not because he was unhappy.

"There, now," he said. "_That's_ a first kiss worth remembering."

At that, Alistair walked away and continued to break camp, leaving me a statue, paralyzed by confliction.


	11. Part 11 - Royal Bastard

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 11 – Royal Bastard**

Three days after Alistair kissed me, we arrived at the outskirts of Denerim. The three days dragged as I was left to wonder what in the world was happening inside Alistair's head, and inside mine as well. The man acted as if no kiss had ever taken place, and I was too confused to bring up the topic. Alistair was happy, speaking to me as he had before, so I knew he wasn't upset or regretting the display of affection. Eventually I forced myself to stop thinking on the subject, and became lost in conversation with other members of our party.

As we entered the central market square of the city, Alistair turned towards me and caught my elbow, urging me to wait. We let the others pass us by, each of them eager to get a bath or a bellyful at the inn.

"I need to talk to you," he said rather gravely.

"Right now?" I asked, eyeing the dozens of people around us.

"Eh, no, but," he turned, looking for something. "There's a courtyard in front of the chantry. Looks mostly empty."

"Alright," I consented, and we walked to the grassy area that boasted several benches, thankfully. My feet groaned in misery. "Ohh, thank the Maker," I murmured as we sat. It took all I had not to whip off my boots and beg Alistair for a foot massage.

Once seated, Alistair fiddled with his bracers, scratching the skin underneath. "It's too damned hot today," he grumbled.

"I'm sure it's not the weather you wanted to talk about," I noted.

"No. No…." He sighed, and turned to me. "Can you keep a secret?"

I chuckled. "If I weren't so tired I would have said something smart to that…. But, yes," I nodded, "of course I can."

"Alright," he nodded as well, once, and commenced staring at the ground. "You know I grew up in Redcliffe, in the chantry, yes?"

"Yes."

"And before that, for a time, Arl Eamon took care of me."

"Yes."

"Well… the reason… that Eamon took me in, at first," Alistair wiped his brow, "was because he knew my father well. Very well."

"You were orphaned?" I assumed.

"No, no. Unacknowledged, rather."

"Oh." I knew full well what that meant. "And your mother?"

"A serving girl at Redcliffe Castle. She died when I was very young, so I had nowhere else to go."

"And this sister of yours? Why did you not grow up with her?"

"Well… _that_ is why I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, alright."

"It just occurred to me that eventually this business might… _fall_ out of someone's mouth and you'd hear it and just… I don't know… yell? I made sure that Bann Teagan didn't mention it when we were in Redcliffe, though he's smart enough not to just say it."

"Say what, Alistair?"

"Alright," he sighed, and took a deep breath. "Arl Eamon took me in because he is Cailan's uncle, through his sister, Queen Rowan."

"This is not news, Alistair."

"Yes, well I'm getting to that part, aren't I?" He sighed again, and continued. "Eamon took me in… because… I am… the bastard son of King Maric. Cailan's half-brother, as it is."

Finished speaking, Alistair bit his lower lip, eyeing me like he just said something awful and regretted it. I wasn't sure what expression I was making, because I was completely dumbfounded.

My lips began to move, and I knew I was making some sort of sound, likely stammering or other some-such nonsensicals. I then felt as if I had been kicked in the abdomen. Needing air, I stood from the bench and tugged at my cuirass straps, desiring nothing more than to rip the heavy metal off. _Why_ I was having such a drastic reaction I didn't know. I couldn't really think, in that moment.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked from the bench.

"I, um…." I didn't know. I didn't know if I was alright, why I couldn't think. "Why…?" I started, beginning to pace. "Why… did you tell me? Why _just_ me? Why now? I—"

"I have my reasons," he answered, standing. He approached me, and placed his hands on my shoulders. He pressed down somewhat, a move that I knew was meant to help steady my breathing. "I wanted _you_ to know… because… well, like I said, it might come out eventually from someone else… and…." He sighed again. He sighed a lot, actually. "I figured it better you know now, rather than later, in case… we…. Well, remember that rose I gave you?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it was not a 'peace offering'. I meant it as… an… opening. No, that's not the right word. An announcement… that I intend to… court you."

I swallowed hard. "Court me."

"Yes. Court you. All proper and traditional. Well… not so traditional seeming we've already kissed… but…. Yes. Is… that alright?"

My head was swimming. In desperate need of sitting, I headed back to the bench and plopped myself down. All at once, my brain was being bombarded by information. Not just information, but information with strong connotations and implications.

Firstly, Alistair wanted to court me. I had guessed as much, but now it was official. The idea was not at all objectionable, and was not the reason I was still struggling to breathe properly. The news that Alistair was a _prince of Ferelden_, by blood at least, struck me like a warhammer to the gut because of what that could mean if he and I ended up together, as a couple, married. If I had been anyone else, a commoner, an elf even, _anything_ but a noblewoman, I might not have given two shits about the implications.

No. I was a Cousland. By blood, a noble of Ferelden and possibly the only living heir to the Teyrnship of Highever. Though I was jumping to conclusions about Alistair's revelation on _many_ levels, my brain decided the implications needed to be addressed, right here, right now.

Finally, I looked up at Alistair, who appeared as nervous as always.

"Did you," I began, "did you tell me this because… you wanted me to know that you're a prince? Because of who I am?"

"What? No. No, no," he insisted, waving his hands as he sat beside me again. "I told you because I want to be honest with you. About everything. I don't like secrets… not between me and those I care about. Duncan knew, which was the main reason he wouldn't let me join the front line at Ostagar. What I am, the blood I carry, never _meant_ anything to me. I don't tell everyone, because it doesn't matter. At all. But _they_ might think it matters and would start treating me differently. I don't want that. I'm just a Grey Warden. That's it. And you, too. Yes, I know _who_ you are, and so does everyone else. Your family name is _not_ why I'm telling you this, and it's certainly not why I—care… for you."

I was blushing. I knew I was. "But, Alistair," my voice was but a whisper, "Cailan's dead." My eyes carried the meaning behind me stating the obvious.

"Yes, I'm well aware of what you're thinking, but no, _not_ going to happen. Anora is doing _just fine_ as Queen, and we have much more important things to do than squabble over a throne."

I nodded, slowly. "Agreed."

"So… now that _that's_ over… shall we to the inn? I think I need a drink."

"Yes, _please_."


	12. Part 12 - Demon Sister

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 12 – Demon Sister**

Nighttime had fallen. Alistair had downed three ales, but was surprisingly not drunk. I only had the one, too distracted by my own thoughts to remember to drink it. The rest of our party was either drinking on their own, in their rented rooms, or elsewhere in town.

"Let's go see my sister, tomorrow," the man blurted.

"Hmm, what?" I asked, having been dragged back down from the clouds by his voice.

"My sister. Would you come with me, when I try to find her?"

"I… well, sure, if you want me to. But wouldn't you rather go alone?"

"No, definitely not. Coward, remember?"

"What is so scary about meeting a potential sibling?"

"I honestly don't know. Call it a gut feeling. Or, maybe I'm worried she'll turn out to be a demon. Again."

"Ha, alright, I'll go."

"After breakfast?"

"Sure."

That night, I shared a large room with Morrigan, Leliana, and Wynne. Unfortunately the room only had two big beds, so Wynne and I shared one. Leliana slept on the floor by the small hearth with a blanket and pillow, preferring it to sharing a bed with Morrigan. I understood.

The following morning, Alistair was dressed in simpler clothing, something he must have bought in town, as it was unspoiled by grime. He had also done something strange to his hair, some sort of oiled coiffing that just looked odd.

I had dressed down too, except my garb likely smelled of dog and other things more foul. Alistair said nothing to hint at such, however, and soon we were off to the location in which he thought his sister had a home.

The further we walked, the closer we were to the woman's supposed house, the more flustered Alistair grew. At one point, my hand bumped his, and he grabbed onto it with more strength than necessary.

"Someone's nervous," I crooned.

"Yep. That's me. Ser Nervous."

"Don't worry, Alistair. The likelihood of your sister being an actual demon is relatively low."

"You could at least lie and say she can't possibly be a demon."

"But where's the fun in that? You're cute when you're nervous."

"No I'm not," he insisted, but then turned to me with a curious look. "Am I?"

I grinned, but remained silent.

"There it is," he said as he spotted a rather shoddy house. His hand was nearly crushing mine. We approached the front door, and with his free hand, he knocked three times.

. . . . . .

"Do you think she'll talk?" was the first thing Alistair said after we were kicked out of the woman's home.

Goldanna had been a demon, indeed, but not the supernatural kind. Initially, the woman had been in shock. She had been told that Alistair had died as a baby. Eventually she revealed stark bitterness, to say the least, of Alistair's supposed comfortable upbringing, and blamed him and King Maric for the death of her mother and the financial troubles of her family. She wouldn't hear it when I tried to explain that Alistair only wanted to meet his family, nor when he claimed, truthfully, that he was not the coddled prince she assumed he was. In the end, we left mere moments after the conversation began.

Alistair was worried that Goldanna would tell someone, anyone who would listen, about who Alistair was. I didn't know why she would use that as a sort of threat, or why we would assume it would damage him in some way. The only explanation I could think of was that it could put him in danger of assassination, perhaps by Anora's faithful.

"I don't know, Alistair. I don't think it would do anything if she did. I mean, for her. Perhaps she would sell the information… but, honestly, who would believe her? Who would believe me if I just walked into the middle of the market and shouted it out to the world?"

"Please don't do that."

"I wasn't planning on it. But my point is, no, I don't think she'll tell anyone. We held onto the idea that your birthright means nothing. Perhaps she'll take that to heart."

"Maybe. I hope so." We started walking back toward the inn, slowly, dragging. "It's… harder, remembering what she was like in the Fade, the fake Goldanna. She was so welcoming, exactly what I… well, what I wanted… and expected, I suppose."

"That's what desire demons do best, Alistair."

"True enough."

"Is having a family really that important to you?"

"Well… it was. But if that's what family is like…."

"It isn't. Not at all. I mean, sure, sometimes Fergus and I didn't get along. Sometimes my parents didn't get along. That's just… life. But blood doesn't always mean something. I can't stand my cousins from my mother's side, for instance."

Finally, a small smile crept across the man's face.

"And, anyway," I continued, "you _have_ a family. You have all of us, the ones you've spent weeks with on the road. We fight and laugh together just as much as any blood-tied family. And you can't forget Arl Eamon. He's family to you, yes? With any luck, he'll be healed, and you can reunite with him, something I _know_ you want to do. And of course there's Duncan…." Alistair frowned, but I reached for his hand, and gave a gentle squeeze. "He may be no longer with us, but he was your family, too. As were the other Wardens, were they not? You were never without family, Alistair. One less cranky demon-sister who just wanted a hand-out doesn't change that fact. Forget her – she was only looking out for herself and her family, and you should do the same."

"Yes… you're right. Thank you, for coming with me. For being here. I think if I had gone alone I would have given her my entire purse just to lessen the guilt she rained upon me." He smiled again, faintly. "I think just your presence helps me feel… stronger, I suppose. Still, five nieces and nephews… it would have been nice, if I could have known them."

"Do you remember them all, their versions in the Fade?"

"Not really. They were always running about, playing. I suppose the demon didn't spend the time to get to know them well enough to pretend to _be_ them. Anyway…."

"_Anyway_, it's over, now. We have business here in town, and then we need to go south, to find the Dalish clan east of Lothering."

"Did I ever tell you I have a _thing_ for practical, decisive women? I didn't, did I? Well, now you know. More's the better."

"Just so long as I rub off on you," I said with a wink.

Alistair's ears flushed immediately, and his nervous laughter filled the air.


	13. Part 13 - I'll Show You Mine

_**AN: **__Hello everyone! This is my first dive into Dragon Age fanfiction. I decided to write little snippets of my Warden's life in the Origins universe. I don't know how many chapters/snippets there will be. We'll just have to wait and see. _

_For more information on and descriptions of my Warden, check out my Tumblr blog, Skyrim-Junkie DOT tumblr DOT com._

_Description: Esmé Cousland, a young but tested warrior and defender of Highever, was recruited by Duncan to end the Blight. She accepts her recruitment with enthusiasm, but soon realizes just how difficult it is to be a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TO END THIS WAR<strong>_

**Part 13 – I'll Show You Mine**

On the road south in search of a local Dalish clan, Alistair and I had begun to spend our evenings together, at least up until the point of sleeping. Mainly we would talk, and when the weather was clear we would star-gaze. The man surprised me by how much he knew of the stars and constellations, among many other things, crediting his education to the Chantry.

When I asked, he revealed to me stories – many of them embarrassing – of his years in Redcliffe.

"I was always the rebellious trouble-maker, the jokester," he recalled, grinning. "I thought I was _hilarious,_ but the others... Well, I wasn't appreciated in my time, at least not by the sisters."

"You're appreciated now," I noted as my fingers traced the length of his.

"Am I?"

"Alright, well, at least by me. And Potato. Potato loves your jokes."

"I don't know. I think Sten appreciates me."

"Sten appreciates your shield. We all do."

"You carry a shield, too."

"Yes, but I choose to use a greatsword when you're around. Let _you_ take all the blows."

"How generous. My body appreciates it. Really. I love the '_ooh_, _how many new scars do I have this week?_' game. I think I'm up to thirty-six, lifetime total."

"My body appreciates your body," I replied without thinking first upon the words. I coughed on my own embarrassment, and quickly followed the rash remark with, "Your sacrifice. Your body's sacrifice, I mean. Less scars for me."

I glanced over to Alistair, who was chuckling silently and blushing enough even to notice by campfire light. I play-smacked his flank.

"Oh, thirty-seven!" he called.

"I did not cut you."

"Barbarous," he proclaimed, a word he used often to describe me. "You likely have more scars than I do, judging by how _violent_ you are." Alistair sat up halfway, propping himself up on an elbow. "Let me guess – seventy-three?"

"I don't have over thirty scars, Alistair, and neither do you."

"Prove it."

My voice caught on my own awkwardness, and it was my turn to blush. Alistair was grinning wildly, knowing full well what he was doing. The brat.

I sat up, looking away from the man and toward the campfire. And then, I considered his words carefully. If Alistair was suggesting he wanted to get me out of my underarmor, he was certainly leading us down the right path.

Feeling mischievous, I turned back to the man, an impish smile crossing my face. "Alright, Alistair. You want to play the '_let's compare scars'_ game?" I pushed my body in a half-turn, landing directly over the man's waist. My hands planted above his shoulders, and my knees indented the blanket we had laid out on the soft gross.

Forgetting myself and, more importantly, forgetting my surroundings, I pressed into the man, kissing him. He did not protest. His hands fell to my back and shoulder, soon wrapping firm around me. In mere moments, I felt a new stiffness against my body, and was encouraged to continue. Our kiss grew in passion, tongues tentative but brave, and I moaned against Alistair's mouth.

His hands traveled down the length of my arms, ending at my wrists, which he grasped. With force I had not expected, Alistair pushed my body away from his, urging me to sit. The look on his face was unreadable, but expressed a mix of excitement and horror. I was at once confused.

"What's wrong?" I asked, a little short of breath.

The man's mouth hung open as he searched for words. "I… don't…," he began, his voice shaking.

Aware of his discomfort, I slackened my counter-protest, and his hands stopped cuffing my wrists. "I'm sorry, I didn't..." I laughed, and slid off of Alistair's waist. "I forgot where we were, for a moment."

"No, no, it's my fault. Can't hint towards the _scar_ game until I… ehh, until…."

"Too soon?" I asked, hoping it was not, in fact, too soon to have sex. I was beginning to grow a bit antsy without it.

Alistair tugged a corner of the blanket and positioned it over his crotch as he fell back to the grass, landing with a grunt. "I didn't think you would call my bluff," he responded with a laugh.

"Bluff?" I asked, horrified.

The man closed his eyes and began chanting, softly, "Morrigan. Morrigan. Morrigan."

"Morrigan!?" I whisper-squealed, doubly horrified.

"Yes," he admitted, exhaling slowly. "The one thing that is guaranteed to wither my… ehh… _good mood_."

"Alistair, my tent's right behind us. You don't have to _wither_ your _mood_."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Do you not want…?" I looked away, eyes closed. "Do you not want me, in that way?" He did. I knew he did, unless all of the playful remarks he had made over the weeks were bluffs, too. My stomach tugged and twirled within me.

"I… want…," Alistair answered, groaning again as he flipped onto his stomach. "You felt that I want."

"Then why…? I-I don't understand."

Alistair mumbled something against the blanket.

"What?"

"I've never," he repeated before shoving his face back into the fabric.

"Never? Never what? N—" I stopped talking, the answer hitting me as clear as if I had heard the man speak it. "Oh."

Another muted groan.

I stammered non-words, fumbling over what to say. "That's… that's alright," I related in complete honesty. "It's… not a big deal. I mean, it's," I sighed, bungled again. "I don't mind, is what I mean. You don't need to worry about, uh, anything. Really."

Alistair slammed a fist against the blanket before sitting up. His eyes never once looked my way, after that. Standing, he announced, "I'm going to that _very_ cold stream west of camp. Don't follow," he insisted, slicing his hand through the air. I stood as well, and Alistair collected the blanket, cuddling it against his torso. Before walking away, he added, "I don't need you hearing me cry."

Hands on my hips, I watched the man speed-walk out of sight.

"Shit," I hissed, and crawled into my tent.


End file.
